


As Strong As Morning

by jamiesfreckles



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: DQXI Rarepair Jam, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Jam, M/M, Mute Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI), Past Relationship(s), Romance, Slow Build, there is so much fluff seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24217057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiesfreckles/pseuds/jamiesfreckles
Summary: Hendrik travels to Dundrasil after everything is over, ostensibly to help with the repairs, but mostly to look for a purpose. He isn't the only one looking. Between fruit-picking and finding the courage to ask questions, El and Hendrik stumble into something sweet together.“I am making preserves,” Hendrik said.Eleven made a small nodding motion, like he wanted to be polite but couldn’t bring himself to agree that the mess really was jam.“Would you like some tea?” Hendrik sighed heavily. “I promise it is far nicer than the preserves.”
Relationships: Graig | Hendrik & Sylvia | Sylvando, Graig | Hendrik/Hero | Luminary
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	As Strong As Morning

**Author's Note:**

> hi! so I watched pride and prejudice and then immediately was like RAIN!! HANDS!!! THE TENDERNESS OF JUST LOOKING AT EACH OTHER!! and I came and wrote this. writing Hendrik is tough, so I hope nobody minds that he sounds like an Austen novel come to life. i have no idea what the official ages are for anyone, or how long the game is set over, so i don't know if i'm supposed to tag this wholesome mess as underage: please let me know! also i'm not entirely sure when this is set: I am going with 'after' which encompasses many things, but there are spoilers in here so beware.

_You have nowhere left to go and an old road at your feet. It takes you somewhere new, somewhere wild and blue with truth. The flowers look like corn, and the way they sway is sweet. In the cottage near the falls is a heart you yearn to meet._

*

When everything was over—and that was a funny way to put it, because everything had been over so many times now, and everything can mean the good stuff, and over can mean gone, but that was neither here nor there: when everything was over, Hendrik bought the property near the ruins of Dundrasil. Nobody owned it, and it was not so much a property as it was a tumble-down shack with a leaky roof and a dismal vegetable patch, but that was fine. It was roomy, and cosy, and it had everything he needed. There was even a statue outside, to warm the night with a holy glow and keep the monsters at bay.

Monsters had been few and far between lately, but there was never any harm in being cautious. 

More often than not, Hendrik ended up sitting outside the shack. There was a porch that creaked beneath his heavy boots. In the early mornings, driven from the quilts by the bumps in the mattress, he sat and watched the cold stars fade with the coming of the sun. The sky bled crimson and gold. He sipped warm, well-steeped tea and wondered what to do. 

His whole life had been about duty. His duty to the King, his duty to his Kingdom, his duty to his partner and brother in arms. He trained from a young age to be a Knight, and he intended to uphold the oath he took until the ends of his days, but it felt almost like there was no room for his old plans in this new world. Like there was no room for him. 

Hendrik sipped his tea beneath the fading stars, and wondered what he was supposed to do now that his whole life had changed.

* * *

Jade’s advice was to stop moping. She came thrice a month with Rab and the parties from Octagonia, who had volunteered to put the crumbling Kingdom of Dundrasil back together again. Every visit, she stopped by the tumble-down shack and grimaced at the state of the place .

“You need a purpose,” she told him, in her soft, velvet voice. “You need to go outside and actually speak to people.”

“I speak to people.”

“You’re turning into a proper grublin beneath a bridge.”

Hendrik usually sighed and insisted that he was fine, but this time he scoffed and put the kettle back on the stove. “What purpose am I to find out here? I moved because the Kingdom had no need of me anymore, because you sent me away.”

“You cannot live there,” Jade said tightly, before her voice gave and her shoulders dropped, exhaustion flowing from her frame. “You know exactly why I asked you to travel.”

Hendrik did know why. After the eighth time Jade stormed into his room to find him unwashed and unshaven and red-eyed from crying, she ordered him to pack his things and see some sights. She shoved him into the washroom, fed him full of food, and sent him on to Cobblestone.

But Hendrik couldn’t linger in Cobblestone without seeing Jasper at every turn. Jasper, threatening the villagers, sitting on his horse with his sword held aloft. Jasper, rounding them up like sheep to be slaughtered, marching down the winding paths and setting the thatched roofs alight. 

It was worse in Heliodor. Everywhere he looked, he saw bright white hair and a confident smirk, and he saw Jasper waving at the crowds, and he saw his dearest friend walking the streets and smiling at citizens, and he sat in the library and saw his pale face bent over books, lit by lamplight, determined to be great. He saw all the good pieces of his deepest love walking and smiling and sparring, and he knew that he couldn’t have it all back. 

“Heliodor is still your home,” Jade said softly, drawing him from his memories. “I expect to see you there whenever you have a free moment. But perhaps you could give this place a chance, or some other place where you aren’t struck with grief every day.”

_But I carry it with me,_ said the small, miserable part of him. 

“Rab could use some help, repairing Dundrasil,” Jade suggested. 

Hendrik bowed his head in defeat, and put the tea on to boil.

* * *

Rab leapt at the chance to have Hendrik lend a helping hand, directing him to crumbling old stones that needed shifting and tree roots that needed uprooting. Most of the landscape was being altered with the help of spells, but some of it needed good, honest elbow grease.

The visitors from Octagonia stopped to stare and gawp at him while he shifted massive stones and wielded his axe with fierce concentration. But that happened wherever Hendrik went, and he was long-used to the notoriety that being the King’s most trusted Knight yielded. Not that he was that anymore, but perhaps word hadn’t spread very far yet. Perhaps it wouldn’t spread at all, and he would forever be Hendrik of Heliodor in several bustling towns, the way he was still Hendrik of Zwaardrust in some small, scattered families. 

Rab laughed when he mentioned it, chortling as he clutched his heavy belly and put down his pipe. When he was finished, along with Hendrik’s patience, he said, “If ye think that’s why they’re staring, ye’ve got another thing comin’, lad.” 

Hendrik blushed at the insinuation, and hurried back to his heavy-lifting. But it didn't keep him away from Rab, who liked to stroll along beside him and stare somewhat wistfully at the skyline, as though he was staring into the eyes of someone he had loved and lost. As Dundrasil took shape around them, Rab stared somewhat less, but he never stopped. 

One day, as winter finally uncurled its fingers, and let its grip fall on spring, Hendrik found him by the shrine at the very top of the cliff. It was the same cliff where he had fought Eleven for the first time, the same cliff where he had discovered the Princess, and the same cliff where he had really started to lose track of his life. 

The shrine was alight with the soft golden glow of morning. A breeze was playing in the corners, rifling through new shoots and stirring up Rab’s robes, which fell to the floor. He knelt on the floor, hands pressed against the stone, and said nothing. 

“I do not mean to disturb you, Sir,” Hendrik said. 

“None of that sir business, now, or I’ll be even greyer before the sun’s even properly up.”

Hendrik moved to kneel beside him, putting the letter that had come by bird down on the grass. He stayed quiet, sensing the solemnity of the morning, before he murmured, “I remember them fondly, although I did not act as though I did. It was hard to split them as my King commanded, into the people I had known, and the traitors he announced them to be.”

Rab reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s all in the past, lad. Let it be.”

“If you are not a Sir, then I am hardly a lad.”

“Everyone’s a lad to me,” Rab said, with a laugh. “Now, ye brought me something, it seems.”

Hendrik handed the letter over, and Rab read it in private, before a great smile broke across his face. 

“Best get this place looking spick and span, aye? My Grandson’s paying us a visit for the spring.”

Hendrik bowed his head in agreement, and wondered if the churning in his stomach was dread, or excitement.

* * *

Rab was a surprisingly sprightly person, for someone who sat so often. When the wagons rolled into view across the sun soaked Drasilian fields, he was the first up and out of his seat, laughing as he tottered off towards the gates. The gates were the first thing to go up once the bridge was repaired, and now they swung open smoothly with a great grinding sound, gleaming white in the sunlight, and edged with thin strips of violet marble.

Eleven climbed out of the wagon before it had stopped moving, earning himself a scandalised gasp from whoever was accompanying him. He sprinted up the last of the bridge and threw his arms around Rab’s tiny form, and Hendrik watched from a distance as the two sunk into the embrace, both of them smiling through tears. 

To his shame, it had not occurred to Hendrik that the old man might be more lonely than he let on. But here they were in the ruins of his home, and as he gripped his Grandson tightly, Hendrik could see nothing but relief in Rab’s features. 

“Oh, that’s fine, don't worry your pretty little head about me, I’ll just climb this preposterous hill all by myself, shall I?” 

Eleven drew back with a somewhat wry grin. He looked over his shoulder and met Sylv’s eyes at the same time as Hendrik; Sylv grimaced first at Eleven, before a slow, victorious sort of grin spread across his face at the sight of him standing there, internally groaning. Sylv had a sixth sense for an internal groan. It was like catnip to him. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite Knight in shining armour.” Sylv clasped his hands together and cooed, “Come over here and embrace your best pal, Henny.”

“I despise that nick-name,” Hendrik said. 

Sylv snorted. Over his shoulder, Hendrik met Eleven’s wide eyed, and offered what he thought was a smile. Eleven’s gaze didn't falter; he looked Hendrik up and down, piercingly, as though he was committing him to memory. 

“Come on, then!” Rab said, shaking out his trailing sleeve and laughing uproariously. “There’s plenty of ale to be had!”

And there was. They took the exhausted travellers into the lower villages of Dundrasil. They were still ruins, but the ruins had been draped in bright, festive cloth and handwoven flags to make cosy nooks and places to sit comfortably, without getting rained on. Hendrik found a quiet place half-hidden beneath one such canopy and drank deeply from his flagon, watching Eleven from a distance. 

“Knock knock,” Sylv said, tapping on the canopy. “Room for one more in this little pity party?”

“This establishment is reservation-only,” Hendrik replied, drinking even more deeply. 

Sylv folded himself into the space with little regard for Hendrik’s preferences, crossing his ankles delicately and leaning out to stare up at the stars. His cheeks were tinged red with alcohol, and his hair was a little mussed at the front. 

“Having fun?” 

Sylv hummed. “Don't be bitter just because I know how to ask a pretty boy to dance. It’s a wonder I survived the trip, surrounded by such dashing gentlemen and strapping young folk.”

Hendrik finished the last of his drink and set the flagon down on a bit of stone, unable to tear his eyes away from El, who was laughing beside Rab. “I do not want to ask a pretty boy to dance.”

“You’re a terrible liar. And a drooler.”

It took every ounce of his strength not to check his chin for drool, but he managed. 

“You know, he isn’t with anyone,” Sylv said. “He came alone, if you don't count me, which you absolutely should. Seemed quite at peace with it, too, so if you’re worried about our favourite blue hooligan, then… ”

“Then I should not be?”

Sylv hummed again and shrugged, tracing the stars with his fingers. “You should ask him and see. Best to get these things from the horse’s mouth, isn’t it?”

Sylv kept him company for a while longer, before calling him a bore and wandering off to dance a little more. Eleven stayed at Rab’s side for most of the night, chatting with whoever knew enough sign language and had enough courage to approach him, but Hendrik wasn’t one of those people. He remained in his seat until the stars began to fade, and then he retired to his cottage to sleep.

* * *

Hendrik filled every door frame. His bulk and his height and his weight made people turn away or toward him. He filled every room with his fierce stern tone. Hendrik filled every door frame, but Eleven could fill an entire sky. He was tiny, in the grand scheme of things, and if he were a Knight, Hendrik would have sparred with him until he bulked up. He didn't fill a door frame, but people turned their heads and bowed them when he walked by. Their eyes lit up. Eleven lit up a room just by stepping inside it.

Hendrik could not understand it. Not before, when he was chasing the Darkspawn. He didn't understand how someone that small and insignificant could be the turning of the tide. He didn't understand how someone that tiny and simple-looking could be the thing to set them all charging towards misery. And he was right to misunderstand, but he was also wrong. Because Eleven did turn the tide. He turned the tide of evil until the sun rose again on a better land. He defeated the darkness with his small, insignificant hands. He showed Hendrik again and again what it meant to fight for good, to _be_ good. 

The last time Hendrik saw him, it was in Arboria, where the celebrations were rampant and vibrant. The boy had been exhausted and ragged and weighed down by grief, but he had also found the strength to smile whenever someone needed it. 

Hendrik had found him crying near the Inn, near the tree that grew there, and he had set one large hand against his trembling shoulder and smiled for him when Eleven ran out of strength. He had promised to protect Yggdrasil’s chosen, and he didn't think that promise had a time frame. 

“I didn't expect to see you here,” Hendrik said, when Eleven showed up at his cottage after a week had passed. “I thought you would be busy with the repairs, and visiting your Grandfather.”

Eleven looked resplendent. His green waistcoat was made of a thicker, shinier material, likely Jade’s doing, and his hair was neatly trimmed. It was still long, and it still looked like silk, but it was no longer matted with blood and tears and sweat, like it had been at the final battle. He was smiling, his head tipped to the side, and his shoulders just about brushed either side of the door frame, sunlight framing him in gold. 

‘You didn't show up, so Rab asked me to fetch you. See if you got stuck in the doorway at some point.’ Eleven’s hand motions looked friendly enough, and there was a teasing look in his eyes that made Hendrik swallow. ‘Everyone’s been wondering where you are.’

“I had a few things to take care of,” Hendrik said, glancing behind him at the bubbling stove.

Eleven bit his lip, nodding almost anxiously. The confidence from a minute ago was gone, vanished from view, and he tucked a slice of hair behind his ear before signing, ‘It’s not me, is it? Is it because I arrived?’

Hendrik felt like a giant, cruel fool. He shook his head solemnly, even though in some ways it _was_ because of Eleven, and said, “Of all the idiots in our party, yours is the company I care for the most.”

Eleven let out a soundless laugh, his head falling back with the weight of it. ‘Your compliments are strangely insulting. Or are your insults strangely complimentary?”

“I meant no offense.”

Eleven smiled softly at him. ‘And I didn't take any.’

There was a sort of knowing affection in his eyes that made Hendrik want to look away. The last thing he wanted was to be rude, but he didn't think he could take any more of this soft behaviour. By all rights, Eleven should hate him, but he never had. From the moment they first fought together, Eleven had forgiven him. During that first night in the Manglegrove, when Hendrik had broached a more feeling apology, Eleven had put their dismal shared history behind them and moved on to kinder topics. 

‘What are you doing then? If it has nothing to do with me?’ El moved further into the cottage, and wrinkled his nose suddenly, sniffing the air. ‘What is that?’

_That,_ was jam. Or rather, _that_ was a bubbling, pitiful gungy mess that was supposed to be jam. Or, to use Sylvando’s words, _that_ was a particularly shrill cry for help.

“I am making preserves,” Hendrik said. 

Eleven made a small nodding motion, like he wanted to be polite but couldn’t bring himself to agree that the mess really was jam. 

“Would you like some tea?” Hendrik sighed heavily. “I promise it is far nicer than the preserves.”

Eleven laughed lightly, and came further into the cottage with a shy smile, and when he signed, ‘Let me help?’ Hendrik had no choice but to accept the offer for what it was: a chance.

* * *

Spring turned life at the cottage into the wettest world Hendrik had ever lived in. He called it a cottage because it was nicer than a shack, but perhaps he shouldn’t have been so bold. The roof leaked so often that he contemplated living under a tree, where it would probably be drier and his toes wouldn’t be stiff and cold in the morning. But in the end he got tired of tripping over buckets and suffering drips down his neck, and he borrowed a ladder from the Dundrasilian workers and went up onto the roof with a bag of tools.

Eleven found him there, sweaty and cursing and knee-deep in bent nails and sore thumbs, and laughed at him. 

“I find not an inch of this funny,” Hendrik said stiffly, but it came out softer than he intended. 

‘I can help, you know,’ Eleven signed. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, show-casing tanned skin and delicate wrists. There were freckles and sunspots visible from even Hendrik’s lofty viewpoint, and it made him ache in a certain ungraspable way. 

“I won’t stop you.” Hendrik shifted on the roof to make room. “I don't know how.”

Eleven gave him a cheeky smile and hoisted himself up onto the roof, accepting Hendrik’s much larger hand when he reached the lip. 

As the days rolled by in a haze of grey clouds and rain, Hendrik found there were many more things he could not stop Eleven from doing. He couldn’t stop Eleven from teasing him, kindly, and in a different way that Sylv did. He couldn’t stop Eleven from insinuating himself into Hendrik’s life and making tea when Hendrik was busy. Often Hendrik came back from old scrolls and diagrams of column repairs to find Eleven at the stove, fiddling with the tea leaves and rubbing a thumb absently over the dim mark on the back of his hand. 

‘It hasn’t glowed since everything ended,’ Eleven confided in him one evening, moving his hands in assured, confident strokes through the air. ‘Sometimes I wake up and look at it, and I wonder if I dreamed it all. But I know I didn't. I only have to look at my new family to know that. Being at home though, that was hard. I didn't expect to be so frustrated with it.’

“It was hard for me to remain where I was, too,” Hendrik admitted, turning his face to the stars. “I couldn’t help but think of Jasper, always and often. Everywhere I looked, he was there.”

Eleven tugged on his sleeve to get him to turn, and Hendrik startled back to life. 

“My apologies,” Hendrik said, heartfelt. Then, hesitantly, he signed, ‘Sometimes I forget to not look away. I am still learning.’

Eleven’s eyes grew wide. He seemed struck speechless for a moment, before he started signing far too quickly for Hendrik to catch half of the conversation. The gist of it seemed excited, though. 

‘Sorry,’ Eleven signed, when he had calmed down a little, laughing sheepishly at himself. ‘I just never expected you to … well, I did, but I thought …”

“You thought what? That I didn't want to learn, or that I might not be able to do it?”

Eleven shook his head furiously, before stilling again. ‘I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me, specifically. You seemed mad, when I came to Dundrasil. And you didn't speak to me all night.’

The reminder makes shame bloom in his stomach, a persistent squirming feeling that makes him cringe back. Eleven watches him curiously, a hint of sadness in his bright eyes, and Hendrik forced himself to speak. 

“Ah. That. I was never mad at you, I can assure you. I was simply… ” 

Hendrik coughed into his fist. There was no way to explain that he had been struck by how handsome Eleven was, how he looked and felt like that first warm breeze after a long, cold winter. There was no way to explain how he had harboured a small flame for the boy since the beginning, since before things had fixed themselves, since before the battle where he was forgiven without question. 

It had been simple attraction back then, but by spring it had flourished into something grander, and now it was a soft and sweet ache that lingered in Hendrik’s chest, and he didn't know how to explain it, but Eleven laid a hand on his arm and said, ‘It’s okay. Don't worry about it. Tell me about the jam instead.’ 

Hendrik snorted. “It is no great tale. I wanted something to do that didn't involve weeping like a fool. According to Jade, I need to find my purpose again.”

And Eleven didn’t agree, or nod his head, or give him a list of ideas. He didn’t look at Hendrik with pity. What he did was tip his head slightly to the side, mouth wry, and sign, ‘I had one of those, once. It didn't do me many favours.’

For some reason, the sight of him there and the depth of his words stole Hendrik’s breath away. 

“None at all?” Hendrik asked quietly. 

Eleven looked at him askance, and, with a small smile playing about his mouth, signed, ‘Maybe a few.’

* * *

The days turned warmer, and the rain eased off a bit, letting the land breathe. Hendrik took one look at the waterlogged vegetable patch and called it a day, but he did let Sylvando take over the planting of berry bushes around his garden. Or rather, he let Sylvando take over the directing of several strong, strapping young soldiers who had nothing better to do than plant bushes.

“I get the sense that you’re enjoying this far more than you ought to,” Hendrik accused, as Sylv strolled by with a handful of small, tart berries. Sylv popped one in his mouth, winked, and went on to reduce the rest of the soldiers to nervous wrecks. He wasn’t unkind, or overly forceful, and he didn't bark orders, but the way he sauntered everywhere and peered over soldiers and smiled as though they all shared a secret, it had an effect on the soldiers. 

And an effect on Hendrik, if he was perfectly honest. But he had tried to have something with Sylv during the lonely nights they spent camping with the party, and though it had been fun, and fierce, and secretly thrilling, the ending of it had been an easy, mutual decision. 

That was how El found him, ruminating quietly on the state of his romantic endeavours while Sylv flirted in the background. He came from beyond the waterfall on horseback, kicking up flecks of mud as he rode towards them. There was nothing urgent in his expression, but Hendrik still rose in a panic. 

Sylv laughed at him shamelessly, and did not repent, not even under his harshest glare. 

El signed for him as soon as he dismounted, a wide smile on his face. His smiles were few and far between; Hendrik had not realised how serious a person El was, but he wasn’t often found beaming or merrily laughing away. His expressions were quiet, and his mannerisms moreso, but that didn't mean he was easy to ignore. 

“Is this a royal summons, or a friendly one?” Hendrik said, when he drew close enough. 

El screwed up his face in mock-disgust, shaking his head. ‘A friendly one. I don't even know how to be a regular person yet, let alone a Prince of Dundrasil. Although Rab does want your help near the shrines tomorrow.’

Hendrik’s brows rose, but he nodded in acknowledgement. The cleaning and clearing was almost done, and the grounds were being prepared for the rebuilding of the lower town. Rab wanted to fix the groundwork of the lower town before he started repairing the castle, and Hendrik could see the sense in it. More people would come for the promise of a place to live and work, and soon Dundrasil would be a bustling metropolis, if Rab had anything to say about it. 

That did not explain why Rab needed his help near the shrines, but Hendrik would simply have to wait to find out. 

For now, El tied his horse to a post and walked with Hendrik around the busy garden, taking note of the different types of fruits he planned to grow. There would be trees and bushes and all sorts of ingredients to make preserves. 

‘I sent a letter to my mother, asking for her advice,’ El signed, when they were sitting on the porch, long after everyone had retreated back to Dundrasil. ‘She’s the best cook in the village, in the whole world. She sent back a book of recipes, and a letter for you. I haven’t read it, but I want to know what it says, so I thought I better hand it over.’

El’s face was a little mischievous as he handed over the parcel, wrapped in brown paper and bound thrice in thick twine. The letter was written on flimsy parchment, but every recipe was beautifully transcribed onto thick, creamy parchment, each word written in delicate flowing script. Dainty drawings of flower sprigs and berries filled each corner. El looked rather embarrassed as he let Hendrik peruse the recipes, but he didn't need to be. 

‘She means well, but she can be a bit pushy,’ El signed. ‘If it’s too much, don't worry about it. She won’t be offended if you don't choose to use them. And neither will I.’ 

But Hendrik shook his head, gathering the recipes neatly into an organised pile, and said, “These are very dedicated teachings. Your mother did a wonderful job with them, and I would be honoured to attempt her recipes.”

The look in El’s eyes was a little starstruck, and Hendrik shied away from it; it did not feel as though he deserved it, not from El, of all people. 

‘You keep doing that,’ El signed, with a sigh. ‘Looking away, looking down. Like you don’t want me to see you. If I’m making you uncomfortable, I can stop.’

“Why would you make me uncomfortable?” 

El didn’t say anything at first. Then his cheeks went red, and he tilted his head away shyly. The sight made Hendrik’s heartbeat quicken, and he felt it in his throat. He recalled Sylv’s smug, knowing look as he left them behind earlier, and he wondered if perhaps… 

‘You must know,’ El signed slowly. ‘I haven’t been that subtle.’ 

But even though Hendrik had a feeling, an almost desperate feeling about where this was headed, he still wanted to hear it for himself. He wanted to be sure before he ruined something good, something sweet. For all he knew, El could have been talking about jam. 

El’s hands fell to his sides, and he scrambled to his feet in the wake of Hendrik’s silence. The flush on his face was gone, and he was paler than snow. 

‘I should go,’ El signed, a little more frantically than usual. 

Hendrik stood in a rush, and his bulk blocked El’s path. He cleared his throat, hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller, but it didn’t work. 

“Please do not mistake my silence for anything bad,” Hendrik said. “If you truly have to go, I will not stop you. But if you have the time, you should come inside, where it’s warmer.” 

His voice dipped and wavered. El stared at him cautiously, before following him inside the cottage. It was less of a shack now that the roof was fixed, and the windows were thicker, and the floor was swept clean. There was a fire burning in the hearth, and a tea-kettle ready to boil. 

The kitchen was a mess. There were pots and jars in the basin, ready to be washed and filled. Vats of fruit piled in the corner, and a pot standing stone-cold on the stove. Even the faintest sniff near it caused one palpitations, Hendrik had discovered. 

‘What did you mean, when you said I shouldn’t mistake you?’ El signed, giving Hendrik no time to gather himself. He was standing in front of the open door, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on his face. 

Hendrik placed the recipes and the letter on the side. His heart pounded impossibly faster. 

“You said that I must know, but you’re far more subtle than you believe, El. I have an inkling, but I… I suppose, as much as it pains me to say it, I’m nervous. Afraid.” 

‘Afraid?’ El took a small step forward, head tilted. 

“Very. I suppose I… there hasn’t been much luck for me, in this area.”

El’s small smile became a sly grin. ‘This area?’ 

Hendrik grimaced. “Romance.” 

El’s eyebrows tipped up, but he didn’t stop grinning. ‘It’s not for you then?’ 

“Romance is for people who know how to preserve things.” Hendrik glanced at the mess in his kitchen. “It seems as though I am not one of those people.”

Eleven gaped at him, before dragging a hand over his face, like he was praying for patience. ‘I can’t tell if that was meant to be a pun, or if you just happened to look over there at the right time.’

Hendrik kept his face carefully blank. 

‘Terrible, you’re terrible,” Eleven signed, though this time his smile bloomed like a fond flower. ‘And yet I still want to romance you.’

Hendrik let himself smile in return, and said, “I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in that.”

*

On the morning after Hendrik had helped Rab up by the shrines, which were now spick and span and thriving with wildflowers, El joined him for a walk along the ruins. There were no monsters beyond the odd Chimera, and those kept their distance. They both wore their swords strapped to their belts, for comfort’s sake, but there was no need; the darkness was receding from the world, and the worst of the monsters with it.

‘Erik sent a letter, which surprised me,’ El signed, as they stopped for Hendrik to re-fasten his boot. ‘I sent him a letter before I left Cobblestone, but I wasn’t sure it would find him.’

Hendrik looked up from his laces to find El’s face falling into wistfulness. He knew that the party missed each other, and that El and Erik missed each other more than most.

“You know, I often wondered whether you two might…” 

There was no way to say it that didn't sound trite, or crude. He frowned down at his boot, only looking up when El let out a soft huff of laughter. Nothing more than a breath of air, but it captured him. 

‘I wondered too,’ El signed. He plopped down on the grass, in the shadow of the ruins, and threaded his fingers through the grass. ‘But no matter what we are to each other, he still has half my heart.’ El flushed suddenly, glancing up with worry in his eyes. ‘Does that… will that be a problem?’

Hendrik settled in the grass and thought about it, but it didn't take long to reach a conclusion. 

“Only if it isn’t a problem for you, either.”

El tipped his head to the side, sorrow and something comforting shining in his eyes. Most of the party were uncomfortable with the subject of Jasper, and Hendrik couldn’t find it in him to blame them, even if it made that mix of guilt and grief that lived inside him _writhe_ like a serpent through his rib-bones. Sometimes it was a red-hot feeling that burned away his vision and sometimes it was a cold, grey regret, and sometimes it simply left him feeling heavier than even he could handle. 

But El didn't shy away from it. He listened when Hendrik began to talk, quietly at first and then all at once, about Jasper and the bright, brilliant child he had been, and the even more brilliant man he had grown to be. He spoke of his own regrets and his guilt, and El didn't brush them aside. The only time he interrupted was when Hendrik tried to take responsibility for Jasper’s actions. 

‘That isn’t how it works,’ El signed, moving until their ankles brushed. ‘When you take responsibility for someone else, you take it away from them. You cheapen it. He made his decisions because of how he felt, because of how he was used. I don't forgive him for them, but they were his decisions, and his feelings. You have to let them be his.’

The words would have stung if it weren’t for the steady look in El’s eyes, and the way he took Hendrik’s hand. His hand was so much smaller, but the way he held on spoke of nothing but strength. There were little calluses on the tips of his fingers from handling blades, but his palms were smooth, and his touch was soft. It sent a shudder down Hendrik’s spine, and the shudders threatened to turn into tears when he thought of Jasper and the way he would pull Hendrik down alleyways when they were children, chasing imaginary monsters with his sharp sword and even sharper smile. They were the Knights of Heliodor, even as boys. And now it was just Hendrik left, but he wasn’t alone. 

Hendrik couldn’t think of what to say, so he threaded their fingers together and lifted El’s hand to his lips. There he pressed a kiss so firm and tender that it would likely never come away. El turned red from his throat to his ears, and he was so pretty that Hendrik smiled as he lowered their hands, and left them entwined on the grass.

*

The rain was coming down hard by the time they got back to the cottage. It came down in staggered sheets, and soaked the land until it was dreary and resembled a loch, rather than grassy banks. A stony, awful silence permeated the air, and Hendrik was relieved when the wooden wind-chimes Sylv had gifted him broke it.

His hand had stopped bleeding, thanks to El’s quick reaction, and now there was a clean, angrily-wrapped bandage spreading from his wrist to his thumb. 

It had been a lucky hit. They had been gathering fruit from the far corners of Dundrasil when a chimera came bursting out of the undergrowth, half-wild and spewing fire. The fireball had launched itself near El, and Hendrik had thrown his blade out to deflect it without thinking; all he saw was El in danger, and his feet moved before his mind did. 

But not everyone appreciated the effort, and Hendrik had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Even El’s back looked angry. He hadn’t made a word since he dispatched of the Chimera and turned to sign, whip-quick and furious, _are you hurt?_

He was a stone, unbreakable and silent. He strode up the porch and paused under the lip, but when he looked like he was going to break down the door, Hendrik reached out. 

“El, I’m sor--”

El wrenched his hand away and stepped forward, his eyes flashing. ‘You didn’t need to do that. I don’t need you to—throw yourself in front of me like my life matters more. It doesn’t. I’m sick of people thinking I need protecting all the time.’ 

“I know that,” Hendrik snapped. “I know that you don't need protecting. I know that you can handle yourself, and that everyone looks at you and assumes you must be weak, or fragile, and I refuse to do that to you, I refuse to be someone who thinks you can’t fight for yourself, but that doesn’t mean I won’t stand in front of you when you’re in danger. Because we are equals, El, and I know that you would do the same for me.”

El blinked at him, light reflected in his eyes, water clinging to his lashes. Then he stood up on his tip-toes and threaded his fingers through Hendrik’s hair, kissing him deeply. His lips were wet with the rain, and his face felt cold when Hendrik reached out to cradle his jaw, but he held on and kissed El back anyway. 

The kiss was furious and fast and deep and consuming, until suddenly it wasn’t. El stumbled forward, and Hendrik wrapped both hands around his waist, feeling how small it was beneath his touch, and lifted him off his feet to kiss him even deeper. The fury melted away, and all that was left was a sudden gasping realisation that this was happening, and Hendrik didn't want it to stop. 

And it struck him suddenly that he didn't have to stop, and he smiled into the kiss, and pulled El close.

*

“This may be your best batch yet,” Sylv said, licking the back of the spoon. He was dressed in a rich, figure-hugging tunic with several roses sticking out of the buttonhole near the top, marks of affection. He was going home in a few hours, which was the only reason why Hendrik was letting him sit there and mock him endlessly.

“And yet you’ve depleted the stock,” Hendrik said dryly. “I’ll never make a living like this.”

“Oh, darling. I don't think you need to worry about that.”

Sylv shot a look at the bed behind Hendrik, where El was sleeping soundly. He was still dressed; they had done nothing more untoward than lying together all night, their hushed voices echoing around the dark cottage, and Hendrik refused to feel ashamed, but a deep blush filled his cheeks nonetheless. 

“Eat your jam,” Hendrik shot back, bustling away to the kitchen. The jam on the stove was tart and sweet at the same time, and he had filled several jars full for Sylv to take home with him. 

“You’re stopping by at Cobblestone, aren’t you?” Hendrik said, lowering his voice. 

Sylv slathered more jam on a slice of thick bread, and looked up, brows raised. “I am. Fancy a journey?”

“Some other time, perhaps. For now, I wonder if you might take a letter back with you. I have one for Jade, and one for … one for Amber, if it’s possible for you to deliver it.”

Sylv put down his spoon and tilted his head. There was a knowing look in his eye, and he smiled gently enough that Hendrik turned away sharply, unable to look at his smile for too long. 

Amber’s letter had been short, and to the point. She had thanked him for everything he had done for Cobblestone, and the way he had looked after El. But the last line had caught him and held him still. 

_He won’t say it, Sir Hendrik, but he misses the world. This place isn’t enough for him anymore, and though it saddens me, I’ve encouraged him to set out and find somewhere that fills him with purpose again. No matter where that might be, or who it might be with. When he wrote to me to ask about recipes, I saw a spark I haven’t seen in a long time. Take care of it, please._

“Say no more, darling,” Sylv said softly. “I’ll deliver it.”

Hendrik sent him a thankful look, and went back to his jam, and El slept on nearby. He wasn’t sure about El, but he thought he could quite genuinely say that he might have found his purpose.

*

“Rab told me a tale of the stones on top of the Dundrasil cliffs, where the shrines are. At night, when the moon glows just right, the stones will dance beneath the stars.” Hendrik passed the cup along and watched El take a long sip; they were on the porch, and Sylv’s carriage was a mere blur in the distance. “They say that if two young lovers were to dance with the stones, their love would be as strong as morning.”

‘As strong as morning,’ El mused, shaping the words oddly with his hands full. ‘I wonder what that feels like.’ 

“Morning is the next great adventure, isn’t it? If the sun can set and rise again on the worst of your days, then it is a sign that you can weather whatever may come. A love as strong as that would no doubt last a long, long time.”

El put the cup down by his knees and sat up on them, his eyes sparkling. ‘Are you trying to ask me something, Hendrik?’

Hendrik cleared his throat. He looked at the sky, and then he looked at El, and then he gathered what was left of his courage, the courage he had missed before, when he tried to ask El a question that first night. And then he said, “I believe that I am trying to ask you to dance, El.”

El smiled, and took his hand, and it was almost as if they could already hear the music.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! <3


End file.
